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Chapter 41: Where There Are Flames


Fires flickered far below. Hundreds of torches revolved around the advancing mob in slow circles. The arsonry had been all but lost amid the sea of orange light; screams were the only sign from so far away. Then the smoke had begun rising. It drifted up in thin spires several blocks away and rode an eastward wind toward him.

Harry stared toward the rising smoke. New sources of it had sprung up nearer to his position and there were more screams now, but he held his ground. Launching off in an attempt to put out fires would only escalate the larger problem he had been sent to solve.

A mob's frontlines came into view. Men and women were packed shoulder-to-shoulder across the road. There were countless rows of them marching one behind the other. All wore black robes and all had wands in hand. The advance was slow, but steady. Soon they would be upon the smaller force awaiting them outside the Eiffel Tower.

Harry peered down at the resistance. It was a ragtag group of muggles. About a quarter of them were armed and wearing uniforms marking them as lawmen, although the majority were citizens who had come out in defiance of the riot.

They were fools. Most of France's auror force was committed abroad, so there were hardly any wands among them. They stood no chance against a larger force armed with magic and ambitions set on violence.

One of the defenders stepped out of line. Two lawmen armed with rifles moved up behind him and provided cover as the frontman called into a megaphone.

A ripple ran through the advancing mob and the mass of bodies buzzed like angry bees. Harry's heart sank. The brief speech must not have been placating. How he wished such things surprised him. So much carnage could have been avoided these past two months had men been capable of levelheadedness.

But no. If one side sowed mayhem, then the other would respond in kind.

And look where it's got us all, he thought bitterly. Countless deaths, monuments destroyed, cities in chaos, and discord across the continent.

Harry leapt off the Eiffel Tower's observation deck.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach and his heart soared up into his throat. Then the wind enclosed him and his boots slammed into the concrete hard enough to make his teeth rattle. His knees bowed and pain throbbed up his spine, but he maintained his balance and stood tall between the two opposing forces.

The rioters' frontline halted. A stream of murmurs flowed through their ranks. At first they mirrored the awestruck exclamations of the defenders at his back. Then someone looked at him more closely and the undercurrent shifted. Harry could not make out words, though he could hear astonishment giving way to apprehension.

Showmanship had never been a strength of his, but he was not daft enough to miss a cue like this.

White light exploded from the Elder Wand. The advancing lines cracked and wavered as men staggered back and threw up arms to shield their eyes.

The defenders saw it first, having been behind him and sheltered from the worst of his abrupt light show. Harry could feel them stir and straighten up when they glimpsed his emerald mask.

The rioters' reactions were subdued. Many of them shuffled or busied themselves straightening their robes. Others shrank back or adopted grim expressions.

None of them came forward.

He had known none would. The night he fought Riddle in the streets of Paris had become notorious. The Parisians had dubbed it La Bataille des Masques, which he had later learned meant 'The Battle of the Masks'. The events of that fateful evening had spread like wildfire, and retellings grew more and more dramatic. Within a week he had been all but deified as Bouclier d'Or.

The name meant Gold Shield and he hated it the way he always hated the names men gave him. Harry was no Merlin, and he had not defied the laws of magic. Conjuring gold in order to deflect the killing curse was no different than being born at the proper time or having a mother who had loved him enough to cast her life away for his.

But men did not know that, and so there was no escape.

"I think you've had your fun." Many of the rioters cringed back from the harsh sound of his altered voice. His every word resounded like the crack of stone, and his every exhale moved through the crowd like the distant rumbling of thunder.

The absurdities they had been told left the rioters frozen into an immobile mass. There were hundreds of them. They could have crushed him had they all attacked. There was no way he could have fought against so many for any longer than a span of seconds.

But the false gravity men had heaped onto his name held back the tide in ways no gold shield could ever have.

That was when the twenty-six venators who had been stationed on the street behind him dispelled their disillusionment and moved forward. A lean man near the middle of the rioters' front line turned and tried to flee, running headlong into those behind him.

The mob's formation shattered. A third of its members released their wands and threw up their hands, but the bulk of those who had marched toward the Eiffel Tower made desperate bids for freedom. Men bowled into one another, snarling and striking out in an attempt to break out of the congested mass and flee. Many of them brandished wands and resorted to cursing anyone obstructing them.

Harry imagined he was wearing the diadem and seeing the golden strands of magic all around him, imagined syphoning great numbers of them into himself until he felt fit to burst.

Then he raised the Elder Wand and felt it all rush out of him in a blinding burst of silver light.

A hollow ache set in as the bright light faded. Harry blinked, keen to see whether the cost had been worthwhile. White haze obscured his sight and he felt as if the world was spinning.

Slowly both impediments subsided. Almost the entire force of rioters was down. Another wave of murmurs crashed through the defenders at his back as venators moved among the crumpled heaps of men and bound them up in scores.

"Monsieur!" It was one of the muggles calling out behind him. The old man limped forward and gestured down the road. "Monsieur, a man is fleeing, he's getting away!"

"I know."

The old man shifted most of his weight onto his left leg. "Uh… pardon, Monsieur, but aren't you going to go after him?"

"No." Harry had considered it for about three seconds when he saw the silhouette sprinting away before realizing it would be a waste of energy. "We know why they rioted." A hint of accusation entered into his words and the old man slouched. "There's nothing to gain from capturing him."

"I b-beg pardon, but is he not probably important?"

Harry shrugged. The simple motion drew a protesting throb from his back. "One of their leaders, I imagine."

"Then—"

"Then nothing." The muggle flinched away from him. "If we seize him, it will only make his friends in high places bitter. And then what? How long until someone else steps up to take his place? How long until we're back here again?"

"But—"

"But nothing." The impatience he was feeling turned each word into a quiet thunderclap. "If we rounded up every man who's tried leading riots the past two months, the population would be decimated."

"But your men are rounding up the rest of them?" This time the speaker was a brown-haired woman in her middle years.

"It's better this way," Harry said. "The man who's fleeing probably moves in circles who are prone to stir up trouble. They might think twice about it once they hear his story."

About half an hour passed before the crowd began dispersing. Neither Harry nor the venators made any move to rush the process. These people had been through an ordeal and were unlikely to stand down until confident the threat had passed, and so they were all allowed to stay and watch as the area was warded off and the rioters were whisked away.

"That was neatly done."

Harry turned his head to see a short man with steel grey hair watching him with knowing eyes. "I'm glad you think so, Monsieur Vieilla."

The artificer smiled. "Alden will do well enough from a valued customer such as yourself."

"Has there been any progress on the commission?" Harry asked. "It's been a week or so since I last checked in."

"Hmm." Vieilla tapped a finger to his lips. "I'm unsure as to the timeline. Time starts losing its importance at my age."

Harry looked the artificer up and down. "You don't look that old." Saying the man looked no age at all would have been more accurate.

"Looks can be deceiving." The smile slipped off Vieilla's lips. "You would do well to remember that."

The remark struck Harry as being out of place. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you here? Why place yourself at such risk for the capital city of a nation you do not call home?"

The frustration he had been holding back all night bore down on him. Too often lately he had asked himself those sorts of questions. Why partake in these distractions while Riddle operated somewhere out of sight? Surely all his energy should be focused on unearthing him.

But it was more complex than that, and a larger part of himself knew it.

"I guess you could say I feel responsible for a lot of what's been going on," Harry supplied. "If I hadn't set the ambush in Paris and let things get out of hand, then the chaos might have stayed more contained and not spread the way it has."

Vieilla hummed. "A good answer, but for the wrong question."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "You wanted to know why I was here."

"No, I wanted to use the question as an example for something more abstract." Viella tapped a finger to his lips again. "Let us try a different way. Why are the riots taking place?"

"That's a complicated question," Harry said as his guilt's gnawing grew more insistent. "Witches and wizards didn't take kindly to knowing muggles were working on weapons that might be used against them, so they lashed out. But then the muggles returned in kind and things just kept escalating."

Vieilla's lips creased into a frown. "Is that what you believe?"

"Belief has nothing to do with it. That's what happened."

"Are recent events really the catalyst behind all of this unrest?" Vieilla inclined his head and stepped away from him. "Think on it, Monsieur Kalloway, and know my door is always open if you wish to discuss a more nuanced answer to my question."


Securing the scene and tying all loose ends required most of the next hour. Harry almost lamented the days when he had fought among a rebel force of vigilantes who had no need for things like routine procedures.

Almost.

Street lamps illuminated his path through the sleeping city. It was the quietest he had ever seen it. Most must have turned their locks and drew their shutters against what they had considered to be impending chaos. Harry could not say he blamed them. Paris had been among the most peaceful places on the continent since his fight with Riddle. Having seen the destruction such things could cause, they had been content to forgo riots and watch the rest of Europe set itself ablaze. Tonight must have brought back painful memories and instilled no small amount of dread.

Sources of light were becoming scarce when he stepped onto a side street lined in low, stone buildings all packed wall to wall. He hated streets like this. The road was too narrow. Fighting here would be a deathtrap for everyone involved. There would be no easy escape if danger arose without warning.

The building he set off toward was the tallest one in sight, made from grey stone bricks weathered smooth by age and with windows showing off an endless spread of waves rather than what lay beyond the glass..

Harry flicked the Elder Wand in the direction of L'Artificier's front door. "Alohomora," he murmured before pushing his way into the lobby. "Evening."

A soft glow sprouted from the tip of Narcissa's wand. The small circle of light it cast turned her eyes from sky blue to the colour of a twilight sea. "I will never understand how you keep coming in like this."

"It's probably best for both of us if that stays my little secret."

"Take that thing off," Narcissa ordered, gesturing toward his mask. "I won't have a discussion with someone whose voice sounds like chipping stone."

Harry reached up to remove the mask. "Vieilla does sleep with silencing wards around his room, right?"

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "The chances he would be sleeping if he were here are slim to none."

Harry re-holstered the wand. "Not the type to call nights early, is he?"

"I'm half-convinced the old man never sleeps."

Harry looked around the lobby via the dim glow emanating from Narcissa's wand. Most of the objects he remembered from his last visit were still cluttered all across the room. The detail stood out to him. Usually the things Vieilla tinkered with were swapped out with alarming frequency. "I ran into him an hour or so back and assumed he would head back here."

Narcissa sniffed. "Not for a few hours yet, I'd guess."

"I'm not sure what business he could have out tonight. I don't think most people will be keen to brave the streets until at least tomorrow."

"What happened? Alden says there was unpleasantness out there and went off to see if he could help maintain the peace."

"A few hundred witches and wizards were heading for the Eiffel Tower and were burning things along the way," Harry explained. "There was a group of muggles waiting for them."

"And I'm guessing you didn't just happen to be in the area?"

"The Order was tipped off a couple days ago and I was sent to diffuse things before they got out of hand."

Narcissa swept a strand of hair behind her ear. "Seeing as you're standing here, I'll assume things went as well as can be expected."

"Better than I'd hoped for, honestly,"

"Then why do you look like such death?"

"It's mostly just fatigue," he told her. "Their ranks broke and they were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, so I took the chance and fired off the strongest concussive blast that I could muster."

"One spell?" Narcissa cocked her head. "You look this fatigued after one spell?"

Harry cast a scathing look at her. "It knocked down almost all of them. Do you have any idea how much magic that requires?"

"Almost all of them?" Narcissa's brows went up. "Did you not say there were several hundred?"

"Yes, which is why I'm so knackered."

Narcissa shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if you're telling tales."

"I'm—"

"I know you're not," she placated him. "If you let me finish, you would have heard how I then remember things like the gold shield or just casually walking in here whenever you see fit."

"Neither of those things are as impressive as they seem," he told her, unsure why he felt compelled to say so. If an entire city considered him some kind of deity, what did one more woman matter?

"I'm sure. Let's take a seat," Narcissa said, stepping aside to let him deeper into the building.

Harry ran a hand through his mess of hair. "Thanks, but I can't stay long."

"Then why did you come?" The words were spoken like an accusation. "Not because of Riddle, surely, or you would have jumped straight into things."

"Not because of Riddle," he admitted grimly.

Narcissa had straightened to her full height. "Are there any updates you know of that aren't public knowledge?"

"The Order thinks he's fled Britain, and maybe even Europe. Hangleton Estate was searched, but the investigation turned up nothing other than some weird religious bollocks."

"I'm surprised you're not looking for him."

Harry could not keep the scowl off his lips. "The world's just too big. I could search for years and not find heads or tails of him."

"But what if he never resurfaces?"

Harry blew a puff of air out between his nostrils. "You don't know him very well, do you?"

Narcissa stiffened. "I never had any desire to, and in hindsight I'm glad for that."

"I am too. Riddle could never live with himself if he wasted away hiding," Harry said. "I bet every day is weighing on him. I bet his temper's hotter than it's ever been." Hopefully it was not directed toward Lily. If the bastard so much as touched her…

"You know him well for someone who just clued into what was going on and decided to expose him for it." There was no heat in the way Narcissa said it, yet her eyes were boring into him.

Harry refused to fidget under the weight of her inspection. "I won't insult your intelligence by making up another cover story. Instead I'll just say I don't think you've ever believed that was the entire truth."

"You won't tell me, will you?" Harry would not let her dejected tone weaken his resolve, and so he shook his head. "Fine." The first hints of ire clipped the single syllable into a harsher shape than it most often took. "At least promise me you're certain he'll come back into the open and that you're certain you know him the way you think you do. Not confident," she emphasized, "certain."

Harry set his jaw. "I am."

"And you'll tell me when his status changes?"

A flash of memory from his strange dream in St. Mungo's assaulted him and he was forced to swallow down the lump building in his throat. "I will."

"Good." Narcissa broke eye contact at last. "Why did you come here then, if not because of Riddle?"

"I wanted to ask if there was any progress on identifying whatever enchantments are on Slytherin's wand." Inspections of the cup had been completed almost three weeks ago and revealed it would produce a cure to almost any ailment; all it required was a drop of blood, and in some cases a piece of the sorcery responsible for whatever it was treating.

Narcissa clenched her jaw. "None yet."

"All right. Just owl me if that changes." A curt nod was her only answer. "I should probably be off."

"Take care of yourself," she told him before stepping through the doorway and shutting it behind her.

Harry took a moment to reorient himself. He was never quite sure how to handle dealings with Narcissa, and that made each one exhausting. They were more than an enchantress and her commissioner, though he was unsure to what extent. She was always civil with him, and at times it almost felt as if she were being friendly. But then she would bristle and be pricklier than a thorn bush for the remainder of their interaction. The shift was always sudden and it seldom came with clear reasoning.

"Women," Harry muttered underneath his breath before stepping out into the street and removing an ornate disc from the pocket of his robes. Engraved onto its surface were the four components of the Order's mark — the triangular symbol synonymous with the Deathly Hallows, a triskellion whose meaning was beyond him, the astrological representation of Earth, and the faerie star.

Harry cupped the disc in his left hand. "Maius bonum." The world blurred by him the way fields and forests flashed past the window when riding the train to Hogwarts.

The impact of his boots slamming down on black tiles made a sharp click that resounded through the high-ceilinged room with its tall windows hidden behind dark curtains. Ringing the long hall was a collection of grey stone plinths, evenly spaced and topped with ravens carved out of obsidian.

A loud crack disrupted the stifling silence. "Master Arcturus requested you be fetched if you arrived tonight."

Harry rubbed both eyes before responding. "I don't suppose the Lord Black could be put off until the morning?" It had been a long day and the consequences of jumping off the Eiffel Tower had started to catch up with him.

The elf's small face pinched into a picture of its disapproval. "Master Arcturus asked—"

"All right, all right. I'm not daft. I can take a hint." Harry glowered at the surrounding statues and rocked gingerly from foot to foot. Pain prickled in his knees each time his weight shifted. "Let's get this over with."

Arcturus was sitting behind his desk when Harry stepped into the Lord Black's study. "You took your time," the old man said.

Harry scowled at him. "Paris has been on edge since my fight with Riddle, so the rioters were taking things slow."

"I assume there were no complications?" Arcturus continued studying the black leather book propped up in front of him. "Dorea said it should be a simple mission but that you were making things harder than they had to be."

"She wasn't a fan of my approach. It wasn't the safest plan for me, but it was meant to minimize the damage and stop things before they could get ugly."

Arcturus turned a page. "And the result?"

"The mob's ranks broke when met with real resistance and it was an easy clean up job from there."

"And the city?" Arcturus closed the book and laid it on his desk. "No damage in the sectors near where Narcissa has been staying?"

"None," Harry assured him. "I saw her after dealing with the riot. She was unfazed and her usual bright and bubbly self."

Arcturus did not smile, though there was a small twitch near the corner of his lips. "I'm glad to hear she's doing well."

Harry straightened out his robes. They were richer than he was accustomed to, made from light but durable silk the colour of his eyes and trimmed in gold. "Well enough. I'm surprised she's still in Paris."

"It's safe."

"I suppose. Riddle knows she's there though, and I don't recall her being fond of it."

"That's like saying Riddle knows there's a bag of gold buried somewhere in the Sahara desert," Arcturus replied. "She's as safe there as she would be anywhere if the bastard has the gall to show his face again."

"He will. It's not a matter of if, but when."

Arcturus grunted. "Which is why you need to be prepared."

"I've been working on it when I've had the time."

"You're about to have a lot more to work with," the Lord Black promised. "One of the reasons Dorea selected this assignment for you is so she could justify holding you in reserve while you hone in on things, using the excuse you had been recently deployed."

"You mentioned something about occlumency back before I ambushed Riddle."

"And we would have had you hard at work on that already had arrangements not been half the headache they turned out to be."

"You've done it, then?" Arcturus had promised him a way of learning.

"Yes. Occlumency and duelling, since you mentioned being less accustomed to single combat situations."

Although fatigue had forced Harry into a slouch throughout the meeting, now he straightened up. "Duelling, or fighting?"

"Both," Arcturus answered. "I talked to Pollux and he insisted each had their own lessons to impart."

Harry was unsure what value could be found in an artistic variant of controlled combat, but he held his tongue. Whether he questioned the methodology or not, the scenario was better than he could have hoped for. "When does all this start?"

"Monday."

Harry whistled. "You move fast."

"Get some rest," Arcturus told him as he scooped up his book and returned to reading. "You look like hell got handsy with a gutter."

The moon told Harry it was past midnight when air refilled his lungs and gravel crunched beneath his feet. Far below the cliff whose edge he stood so near to, city structures dotted what he had once known as a sparsely populated countryside.

Harry turned around and strode into the cave. Past what appeared to be a dead-end wall was a long, low-ceilinged chamber he had hollowed out. It had been empty until about a month ago. Now the trunk Ignotus's Mantle had purchased for him was resting near the foot of a plain and narrow bed. It was far from the most comfortable thing he could have conjured, but that was how he liked it. It kept him honest and alert.

Before he knew it he was awake again. Harry might have missed that he had slept at all if not for the shooting pain behind his right knee when he straightened out his leg. Everything between his ribs and the soles of his feet hurt. The area around his knees was the worst of all. He decided after getting dressed and walking gingerly around that there was probably some light damage to a ligament or tendon.

An owl was waiting just outside with an envelope tied to its right leg. "I'm sorry," Harry said once he had removed its burden. "I don't have anything for you." The bird tossed its grey head in a condescending arc, then flapped its wings and flew away.

Harry smiled as it went, then slit the envelope and removed the piece of parchment from inside.

Harry,

I would ask for a word with you near our favourite boar this morning, or a return letter letting me down gently.

Yours truly,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry stared down at the roll of parchment. Seeing how little being a self-proclaimed High Emperor had changed his mentor brought warmth up into Harry's chest.

Dumbledore was leaning against the wrought iron gates when Harry appeared just outside the Hogwarts grounds. "I hope I haven't kept Your Majesty waiting. I only just woke up and got your owl." The sun was already well into the sky, wielding its bright brush and painting the surrounding woods in a wash of greens and golds.

The sunlight glinted off his half-moon spectacles as Dumbledore pushed off the iron post and smiled. "Not at all. The day is still young yet." The emperor slid a long wand out of his sleeve and wrapped it against the post he had been leaning. The gates shimmered into a substance between smoke and shadow. "Walk with me."

It was strange to see the grounds in mid-summer. Had students occupied the castle on so ripe a day, every inch of space along the Black Lake's shore would have been tightly contested and students would have been soaring over the quidditch pitch. Late risers would have been streaming out the castle doors and moving down the sloping lawns, taking their eagerness and laughter with them. Some few would have sought shelter in the tangled shadow cast by huge trees near the Forbidden Forest's edge.

Instead the lake's shore was abandoned but for butterflies fluttering above its bank and for chipmunks chittering under the surrounding trees. The castle doors were closed and the quidditch pitch was quiet. Nothing stirred nearby the forest's edge save squirrel's and spiders.

"I see you have grown fond of Hogwarts," Dumbledore observed.

"I have," Harry admitted. "It was home for me when I really needed one."

Dumbledore hummed wistfully. "As it has been for many over the years."

"What will it look like this year?" The question had sprung up in him the second they stepped onto the castle's grounds. "Have you found a new headmaster?"

"No." All signs of warmth and pleasant memory were wiped off that wizened face.

Harry selected his next words carefully. "Slughorn was the deputy headmaster, wasn't he?"

A deep frown spread across the High Emperor's old face. "Horace is the most natural replacement, though he and Tom were always close."

"You don't really think Slughorn…" Harry let his words trail off.

"I think Horace is an admirable embodiment of the traits his house values," Dumbledore said after a short pause. "I think he has a good heart, but sometimes he is too clever for his own good. This is one such time."

"I don't understand." There was a missing piece.

"Horace's ambition is well-known," Dumbledore explained. "It comes with the territory of nurturing young talents and cultivating connections after several decades."

"And Riddle was one of those young talents Slughorn attached himself to, so people wouldn't look on his elevation highly." It was the way Dumbledore implied without saying that helped him find the final piece.

Dumbledore dipped his head. "It has left us in a bind, if truth is to be told."

"There aren't really any ideal candidates," Harry surmised.

"Not who have the time to bear such an important burden," Dumbledore agreed. "There is one frontrunner for the position, but his hiring is contingent on delicate procedures elsewhere."

Although Harry's curiosity was still buzzing, he did his best to mask it. "If you're confident in this man's abilities, I hope everything goes smoothly."

"Thank you, Harry. Your confidence in the Order during dark times such as these is a much needed ray of light."

"Is everything all right, Your Majesty?"

Regret was all but palpable in the old man's exhale. "I wish that I could say it was, though times being what they are I would be lying to you."

Harry's stomach gave a nervous skip. "Are things really that serious? I know the riots have been pretty bad in Spain, and Dublin was a mess a fortnight or so back, but most places haven't seemed so bad."

"All of what you mentioned is in plain sight, floating near the surface." Dumbledore adjusted his stride so it carried him toward the lake. "Those sorts of things have seldom worried me. Far more troubling are the deeper threats who are content to dwell in shadow until opportunity arises."

Harry clenched his jaw as a wave of heat emitted from the Elder Wand. "Like Riddle."

"Yes and no."

Harry felt the shred of hope that had been lengthening inside him snap and scolded himself for latching onto it. Dumbledore would not have dallied for so long had he called him here to discuss Riddle. "So it's not him we're talking about, then?"

"No, not Tom. At least not yet."

They halted under the oak tree Harry had so often sat beneath with Ron and Hermione, and more recently with his three female friends. "What then?"

"There are a plethora of these deeper dangers," Dumbledore informed him. "You mentioned Spain not long ago and alluded to the turmoil ripe throughout Catalonia, just as an example."

Harry grimaced. "I heard those riots were the worst."

"They must be." Dumbledore pronounced those words with a crisp distaste. "We lost several hundred aurors in Barcelona two nights ago."

Harry had been staring out over the unmoving water when his head snapped around. "Several hundred aurors?"

"And an entire squad of venators."

Harry sucked in a breath. "I've never heard of an entire squad being taken out."

"It has happened in America on rare occasions, though not so close to home."

Harry bit the inside of his bottom lip. "May I be blunt, Your Majesty?"

"Always."

"That can't have been a simple riot. From what I've read about American revolts, they've historically been more organized and on larger scales when at their worst. If situations like those are the only times squads of venators have been lost…"

Dumbledore's face was hard and grave. "We believe the area in question has escalated past the point of simple riots and entered into more concerning waters."

"Are you saying you don't think Catalonia is torn up by witches and wizards fighting against muggles?" Harry already guessed the answer.

"We fear the magical and muggle populations in the region might have reached an understanding on the grounds of having mutual enemies."

"But how?" Almost all of Spain had been in tatters due to fearsome civil conflicts less than a week ago if what he had heard was true. "And why?"

"The why is simpler." When Harry did not catch on, Dumbledore continued. "Ambition. The Order of Merlin does great things and expands mankind's horizons past what we could have dreamt of a few short decades in the past. One of the ways it does so is by imposing structure and ensuring a system whose components are all working in uninterrupted harmony."

"I don't see the problem," Harry said. What he would have done for such global unity back where he had come from. Voldemort's power would never have ascended to such heights had nations bound together to oppose his mounting threat.

Dumbledore fingered the sleeve of his green robe. "It is a wonderful thing we have accomplished if you are willing to place yourself beneath the wants of an entire world, but certain men have more ambition than is good for them and lack the compassion needed to control the excess. These men see not the global gains, but the ceilings they must be mindful of."

Harry nodded as the meaning in his mentor's words became clear. "Most men are fine being happy and successful, and the few who aren't can strive to be venators, or chancellors, or governors."

"Most, yet there will always be those who think they are cut out for greater things. Why settle for overseeing a single nation when they could pursue conquest on a continental scale or larger?" The old man shook his head. "It is foolishness, of course. Even governance over a small realm is more power and responsibility than almost any man can safely bear."

"And you think Catalonians have been thinking this way?" Harry asked. "You think they believe they can do better if left out of the empire?"

"I believe an individual or small group of individuals cursed with more ambition than wisdom have spotted an opportunity to seize power and are now reaching for it with both hands."

"And you said there were a bunch of problems like this?" Harry asked.

"Much of the continent is on fire. Where there are flames, there are always shadows."

"And you think I can help somehow?" Dumbledore had only ever entrusted people with what they had to know to solve the problems in their paths.

"You are certainly capable and would be an invaluable asset for any front in need."

"But there's something else?" Harry pressed. "Something less obvious?"

"You were promised a chance to help bring Tom to justice." That got his attention. "You staying on the British Isles gets us no closer to the goal we all agreed to work toward."

"So what?" Harry asked. "You want me to help put out fires farther from the isles?"

"Not quite." Dumbledore's bright eyes bored into him. "I want you in a position to dive below the surface and skulk among the shadows. Not only in the hopes a powerful force of light such as yourself might drive them deeper underground, but because in their midst will be where Tom is found."


"The brightest flames cast the darkest shadow."

— George R.R Martin


Author's Endnote:

I knew I'd fit a GRRM quote in here eventually :)

I apologize for missing last week's upload. The rough version of a chapter got posted when it was not supposed to and I was unaware, so I spent a week editing something that had already been put out when it should not have. I just decided to change the text so the revised version was up, and then skip last weekend's upload. You'll get a chapter next Saturday without a gap week to make up for it.


A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.


PS: The next chapter will be out in one week. Remember that chapters can be read early on Discord, YouTube, and P*T*E*N! All those links are on my profile, and if any give you trouble, use my website's homepage. That site can be found via a generic Google search of my pen name.